


The Solar Brightness of the Little Flame

by Doitwriteaway



Category: The Good Doctor (TV 2017)
Genre: (for that one detail I hate), (it's a pun), (it's the OC not Shaun), Canon Autistic Character, Canon Non-Binary Character, Fix-It, Let autistic adults have friendships, PINE-ING
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 02:33:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13871244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doitwriteaway/pseuds/Doitwriteaway
Summary: Shaun's friend Ida convinces him to find a better replacement for his pine scented air freshener. Because a pine scented car air freshener is the furthest smell from an actual pine tree that there is.





	The Solar Brightness of the Little Flame

**Author's Note:**

> I've thought a lot about the idea of Shaun getting to know more autistic adults and finding an autistic community. Enter Ida, a friend that Shaun meets at an autistic-led self-advocacy and activism event. Please let me know what you think of her in the comments.
> 
> This is a fix-it fic for a detail that has irked me to no end. There is no way that a car air freshener would be an adequate substitute for the great outdoors. I've tried to remedy the situation as best I can.

            “So, is that air freshener thing supposed to smell like your girlfriend or something? Does she have one of those in her car, or what?” Ida asked, chewing idly on the hem of her t-shirt.

            “No,” Shaun replied, fiddling with the paper bag that contained the pine tree shaped object.

            “Oh, good,” Ida responded, “because that is the worst smelling thing I have ever had to smell.” She pressed her face into the neckline of her shirt and inhaled.

            The two friends sat in silence for a moment on the edge of Shaun’s bed. Shaun pointedly gazed at the television screen, which displayed an episode of Brooklyn 99 but was currently muted, and Ida scrutinized Shaun, her brow furrowed together.

            Finally, she spoke. “Only, you get it out after every time you take a call from her.” She glanced down at his cell phone, in use a moment ago, that now rested on the bed in the space between them.

            “Not every time,” Shaun insisted.

            “I notice patterns, Shaun,” Ida retorted, tugging a hand through her short brown hair.

            “You aren’t here every time she calls,” Shaun replied. “How could you know whether I get it out every time Lea calls when you aren’t even here?” He crinkled the top of the bag delicately.

            Ida rolled her eyes. “Fine. You get it out most of the time when she calls. You’re all like, ‘Hello, Lea. Yes. No. Yes.’” she said, perfectly copying the cadence of Shaun’s voice. “And then after your truncated little conversation, you get this sad look in your eyes” -- and here she widened her eyes, an exaggerated picture of heartbreak -- “and then you bury your face in that paper bag, getting high off the fumes or something.”

            The corners of Shaun’s taut, resting smile dropped slightly. “You’re mimicking my speech patterns. Mimicking another person’s speech is typically a way of mocking them. Why are you mocking me?”

            Ida flopped back onto the mattress, sighing loudly. “I’m sorry, Shaun. I didn’t mean to make fun of you. It’s just, you never tell me anything.” She reached up and brushed her turquoise-tinted bangs out of her eyes.

            “Yes, I do,” Shaun countered. “We talk very frequently.” It was true. Ever since they’d met at an autistic self-advocacy workshop three months ago, one that Claire had begged him to give a shot, they’d met up at least once a week since to watch television and enjoy each others’ company. It turned out that Ida worked at Saint Bonaventure, in the radiology department. It was nice to have someone to eat lunch with again.

            “Yeah,” Ida said quietly, “but I barely know anything about Lea. I’ve never even met her. And this air freshener thing is such a weird anomaly for you. I know how you are about smells. You’re like me.” She scrubbed her hands over her face, sighing again. “I guess I was just curious. But we can drop the subject. I’m sorry I pushed so hard,” she mumbled, lacing her hands together on her stomach and gazing up at the ceiling.

            “Pine trees,” Shaun said softly.

            Ida’s eyes widened in surprise that he was choosing to continue the conversation, but she waited patiently for him to continue.

            “Last year, I had a meltdown at the hospital. I struck Doctor Glassman. He was trying to move me. He touched me and I needed him to stop.”

            Ida’s lips parted slightly. She blinked but did not take her eyes off the ceiling above her. “Shit, Shaun. I’m sorry. I… I know how that is,” she said, her voice trailing off into a whisper.

            “Afterwards, I left the hospital. I knew Doctor Glassman would be looking for me, so I went to Lea. She helped me.”

            “Oh,” said Ida, realization dawning on her features. “Wow, I actually like Lea now.”

            “You like Lea now,” Shaun repeated. “Did you not like Lea before?”

            “Well, I didn’t know anything about her,” Ida said, blushing. “I just didn’t think she’d be, I don’t know, good enough for you.”

            Shaun paused, letting the information sink in, and then continued. “Lea and I went on a vacation. She let me drive her car. I am a very bad driver. We drove with the windows rolled down, and the air smelled like pine trees.”

            “I think I get it now,” said Ida. “You want to have something to remember that trip by. Something you can hold in your hands.”

            “Yes,” agreed Shaun, weighing the bag in the palm of his hand.

            Ida scoffed. “Well, does it smell like it did?” she asked incredulously.

            “No,” Shaun replied slowly, “but it’s supposed to.” He pulled the air-freshener out of the bag and gingerly held it up by the string attached to the top. “It’s supposed to smell like pine trees. It’s printed right on the bottom.” He held it out to Ida so that she could read the words “pine tree” that were printed on the bottom in small block letters.

            “That is the least pine tree smelling thing I’ve ever smelled in my life,” she declared.

            Shaun fiddled with the bag and said nothing, rocking slightly. Then he spoke. “Lea gave me a baseball, afterwards. She said I could borrow it. But when she visited, she told me to put it back inside its case. It’s valuable. I shouldn’t touch it very much. I can’t smell it,” he said. He paused and took a breath, then continued. “After her last visit, she left me her grey sweatshirt. It smelled like her. But I held onto it too much. It doesn’t smell like her anymore.”

            “Aw,” said Ida, frowning. She sat up. “But surely, we can do better than this?” she asked, looking at the paper bag. “It’s giving me a headache.”

            “It gives me headaches, too,” Shaun admitted.

            “Then get rid of it!” Ida cried.

            Shaun clutched the bag against his chest protectively. “I got it after Lea left,” he said, his voice rising. “It’s important.”

            “Okay, okay,” Ida acquiesced. “But maybe we could get another pine tree scented thing, to complement it?”

            Shaun thought for a moment, then nodded resolutely. “Okay,” he agreed.

***

            Shaun wandered the perimeter of the large wooden table thoughtfully, perusing the many odds and ends the boutique had laid out. Of particular interest were the wide variety of candles artfully arranged amidst the jewelry and fancy gold-printed cocktail napkins, but unfortunately they were organized in no particular order at all. This was the fourth store they’d stepped into, and Shaun’s eyes swam with small, shiny objects.

            “Anything over there smell like a tree?” Ida questioned, turning to Shaun from a display of throw pillows. She’d spent the last ten minutes petting the different fabrics and had settled on a dark blue, faux suede one, skimming her hands back and forth.

            “I don’t know,” Shaun replied. “There’s a lot of candles here.”

            “Here, let me see,” she responded, crossing over to Shaun and staring at the table with lazer focus. “Wow,” she laughed slightly, “they really just throw everything out there, don’t they?”

            “It’s a mess,” Shaun agreed, darting a hand out and adjusting a stack of coffee table books so they lined up one on top of the other.

            They both searched the table for another moment. Then Ida pointed to a candle at the far right corner of the table. “What does that one say?” she asked.

            “Evergreen,” Shaun responded. He picked up the glass candle carefully and inhaled deeply. “It smells like trees. And slightly of oranges.”

            “Huh,” Ida said, raising her eyebrows. “Oranges?”

            “Yes,” Shaun confirmed.

            Ida picked up another of the same candle and looked at the box. “This is a really nice candle, Shaun,” she said. She noticed the price on a sticker at the bottom, and her eyes widened. “Geez. A _really_ nice candle.”

            “It’s perfect,” Shaun replied.

            “This is like, real essential oils,” Ida said.

            “Lea’s shampoo smells like oranges,” Shaun said happily. Then he turned and headed off to the register.

            Ida put down the candle she was holding and then wandered over to the door and lingered there, waiting for him. She chewed the edge of her shirt so vigorously that an employee eyed her from beside a rack of dresses. Embarrassed, she pulled the piece of fabric out of her mouth and smoothed it against her chest. She twisted her hands together and frowned, glancing over at the tall, lanky frame of her friend as he stood stiffly in front of the register. The brief bubble of triumph had popped, leaving in its place a strange emptiness, a feeling of lack.

            Shaun was quiet on the drive back to his apartment, and Ida put the radio on, soaking in the drone of car dealership commercials and fast food jingles. He took the candle in its box out of the shopping bag and rested it in his lap, familiarizing himself with its edges. She did not watch his hands; she pulled into the parking garage and parked, ears ringing with the sudden silence and the onslaught of dark. The lights inside the car came on.

            “Do you want me to come up?” Ida asked.

            “Yes. We have to light the candle,” Shaun said matter of factly.

            The elevator felt too full on the ride up, as though it wasn’t just the two of them inside it.

            They walked into Shaun’s apartment and the night encroaching through the windows was suffocating. Shaun ignored the electric lights, hurriedly crossing to the kitchen table. He opened up the box with careful hands and set the candle down in the center of the table. Then he turned and rummaged around in one of the cabinet drawers. Ida hurried over to him and turned on the flashlight of her cell phone, standing just next to him and shining it into the drawer.

            For a brief moment she could smell Shaun, the sweet human being smell that was only his, easy, right there underneath a mild overlay of peppermint shampoo and a powdery hit of unscented deodorant. She gasped reflexively, belatedly attempted to stifle it. Then he located a box of matches and stepped away, back over to the table. The match hissed and flared as it caught against the wick of the candle. Shaun put out the match and dropped it into the sink.

            He sat down carefully in his usual seat at the head of the table, and Ida gingerly took a seat just next to him, staring out the window over the solar brightness of the little flame.

            Gradually, the smell of Shaun’s apartment was overtaken by cedar and fir and pine. And oranges. Shaun’s eyes took on a glassy, faraway look. He smiled almost imperceptibly.

            Ida blinked rapidly, fending off an inexplicable prickling feeling behind her eyes. It was a lovely candle. Normally, she liked being able to smell everything around, but she shut her eyes and welcomed in the disorientation of the uniform, overlapping woody scents.

            Soon, she would have to go. She would have to decide to get up and go, and Shaun wouldn’t say goodbye to her, because he had already left, he was somewhere else now. He wasn’t with her. But how could she move through space, how could she get her bearings, when everything smelled like this one thing, this one thing she had found and brought but that did not belong to her? The space was filled up with it, this smell she had no right to be breathing, to take inside of her lungs and into her blood. And yet. She was here. And somehow, a piece of it was hers.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Please let me know what you think in the comments, including whether you liked or didn't like Ida and whether you'd like to see more of her.
> 
> I will be returning to my longer fic again; this is just a little break.


End file.
